


Rise Up (Still Breathing)

by AllegroCrescendo



Series: Fast Times at Angeles High [7]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Depressed Victor Nikiforov, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, High functioning depression, How Do I Tag, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Musicians, Past Character Death, Please put me out of my missouri, References to Green Day, Skateboarding, Song Lyrics, music industry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 11:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegroCrescendo/pseuds/AllegroCrescendo
Summary: As the anniversary of his mother's death nears, Viktor has always struggled to cope. But this year, he finds solace in a new place.__He robotically followed Makkachin’s motions until he realized she was leaving him down a familiar route. Passed the same grocery shop. Passed the same house with a loud chihuahua in the front yard. All the way to a large edifice of low-income apartments.Looking down at Makkachin, Viktor tugged on her leash. “No, Makka, Yuuri is sleeping.”Makkachin whined loudly and pointed her nose to the air. Viktor gasped and tried to stop her. He knew what was coming next. Makkachin began to howl loudly, in the middle of several apartment buildings.Viktor scrambled forward and pet her snout affectionately. “Okay, Makka, okay, we’ll see Yuuri.” He lied.As if by pure fate, his phone in his pocket began to vibrate. Viktor was shocked by the caller ID. It was Yuuri. He did his best to muster his usual, cheerful air and answered quickly: “Hello, Yuuri,” He chirped.“Ugh,” Yuuri groaned, “How are you so peppy this early in the morning?” Yuuri didn’t let him answer his question. “Are you outside my house?”





	Rise Up (Still Breathing)

**Author's Note:**

> Hellohellohello,
> 
> Allegro here!
> 
> I'm so sorry I've gone MIA since September! But I'm here now. I'm a college student and it's kicking my ass ;3; But I've now have been able to integrate writing time into my busy schedule! Keep an eye out for a second fanfic to be uploaded today or tomorrow that is completely Leo-centric!
> 
>  
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING**
> 
>  
> 
> This fanfic has implications for high-functioning depression. In short, high-functioning depression is a condition where the affected person seems perfectly fine, and can perform day-to-day tasks, but has unsettling feelings and thoughts associated with depression. It is perhaps one of the most dangerous forms of depression. Canonically, I'd say Viktor does suffer from high functioning depression. 
> 
> Of course, I've chosen to depict unhealthy ways of people handling their grief. Viktor's father, Dmitry, throws himself into his work as a way to forget about his grief and keep himself occupied. He is working himself half to death so he won't have to face his emotions. Viktor is handling it also very unhealthily due to the fact that he sees his grief as a form of weakness rather than a natural human reaction and emotion. Don't worry. Our boys are gonna get better.
> 
> Okay, the songs referenced in this fic!! 
> 
> I'd highly recommend you give them a listen. They're amazing songs. 
> 
>  
> 
> [ Rise Up by Andra Day ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdHFEkNZM9k)
> 
>  
> 
> [ Still Breathing by Green Day ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnTZa4FY_7I)

Viktor giggled as he ran into the kitchen in his two-piece pajama with his brand new puppy, Makkachin, in tow. His long, silver hair was tied back into a pair of twin braids his mother always weaved before he went to bed. His father didn’t really like his long hair, but Viktor’s mother defended him. If he wanted to have long hair, he could. So long as it was healthy, his mother nor his father had no say in what Viktor cared too look like. 

“Mama!” Viktor shouted as he raced towards his mother. Lyudmila was standing in front of the cupboards, putting away dishes. She grinned and crouched, pulling her son into her arms.

“Good morning, my Vitya,” she cooed and placed obnoxious kisses on his cheek. “Did you sleep well, _моя любовь_?” She stood, lifting Viktor up into the air with her and balancing him on her hip. 

“Yes. I had a dream I was on a big stage playing the piano while you were playing the cello, mama!” Viktor told his mother with excitement.

“Sounds like you’re trying to take my job,” His father joked from his place at the table. Viktor looked over and puffed his chest out with pride.

“We can play together! I can play the treble part and you can play the bass part!” He insisted.

Dmitry hid his smile behind his cup of coffee. “Maybe. Or maybe once I’m too old to play, you can take over my part.”

“Then that would mean I would be too old too, dear,” Lyudmila joked as she squeezed Viktor once more and stood. 

Viktor gasped, completely scandalized. “Papa!” He cried, “You have to hurry and get old faster than mama!” 

Lyudmila looked up with a smirk towards her husband. “Yeah. Get old faster.” 

Dmitry rolled his eyes at his wife but still kept a smile on his face. “Being your husband, I think I’ll get white hair at 30.”

Viktor gasped. “Does that mean I’ll get white hair when papa gets white hair?” He tugged on his braids in mortification. “Mama, let me have your black hair!” He wailed and grabbed a lock of his mother’s hair, rubbing it on his own hair in hopes that the dark-tint rubbed off on his own, silver hair.

“Vitya, I’m afraid the only thing you inherited from your mother is that awfully large forehead of hers,” Dmitry said, walking over to swoop a kiss onto his wife’s forehead. “It’s as wide as an airplane runway.”

“Keep making fun of my forehead and you’ll go into the studio with my slipper up your a-” Lyudmila caught herself on the swear, looking down at her son in her arms who stared up at her with innocent eyes. “Your apple juice. It’ll taste like my dirty feet,” She grumbled.

“Duly noted,” Dmitry said with a sparkle in his eyes. They were a much darker color compared to Viktor’s. His Aunt Ana always told him that he had been blessed with his mother’s soft eye color and heart-shaped smile. She also lamented that his cousin Yuri didn’t get her blue eye color and rather got his father’s sharp green eyes. (“The sharper the color, the fewer girls will want you.” She would joke.)

“Viktor, don’t listen to your papa. Your big forehead is beautiful. The bigger it is, the more places I have to kiss,” His mother told him seriously and placed a barrage of kisses upon his forehead, making Viktor squeal with laughter. His father then swooped in and placed a kiss on Viktor’s forehead before kissing his wife’s lips. 

“I’ll be in the studio later as soon as I drop Viktor off at school.” Lyudmila murmured against her husband’s lips and pressed another soft kiss to them. 

“What if I just don’t go to school,” Viktor interjected, looking up at his parents. They both looked down at him with wide eyes. His mother turned away from him as her shoulder shook. His father fought to keep a straight face. 

“He’s only in first grade and he’s already trying to play hooky. Lyudmila, my dear, I’m afraid our Vitya has your spunk.” Dmitry said after collecting himself.

“No, no, our Vitya will be calm and patient and a tender person,” Lyudmila insisted with as she caressed Viktor’s face. The window behind her provided the soft glow of a halo behind her. Viktor looked up at her with sparkling eyes. His mother was the absolute best. She was the kindest and most beautiful person he had ever met. No one could compare to his mother.

His mother.

 _His mother_.

Viktor woke with a gasp. His entire room was shrouded in darkness. The only light that came through was the light not filtered through his curtains. It was a late September morning. The winds were finally coming in and the weather was slowly, but surely dropping. The mornings were getting darker and the nights were coming earlier. Viktor balled his shaking hand into a fist and closed his eyes, trying to suppress the tears that built in his eyes. 

Rolling over onto his back, Viktor pressed the back of his hand to his lips and closed his eyes, allowing the tremors rock through his body. He knew what was coming. Both in terms of the date and his emotions. Another wave of sadness crashed over Viktor’s body and he bit down on the skin of his hand to turn a sob into a whimper. He stared at the swirls of paint on his ceiling, his fairy lights on the wall and the pictures he had strung up. He especially tried to focus on the newer ones. The ones that held such bright, powerful memories. The only ones that could possibly chase away these feelings. That could bring back the light in his life.

He hated it. He hated having those dreams. He hated wishing he could hear her voice again. Even though he could hear them again in their countless home videos but it wasn’t the same. He hated missing the way she held him and kissed his forehead. He hated missing her laughter and missing the way she smelled like ginger every time they made cookies He hated coming home to all the lights off and his father’s room closed and locked. He hated knowing his father slept on the couch of his studio and he hated making dinner for one. He hated the way his aunts looked at him when he drove himself home after Sunday dinners. He hated it when his Aunt Evgenia held his hand because all he could think of was the way her cold hand held his as mahogany was lowered into a hole in the ground.

Sensing his sadness, Makkachin bounded up onto his bed and laid next to him, resting her head on his stomach. Viktor gripped her curls and fought for control over his emotions again. He fought back the third wave of sadness. Makkachin whimpered again and sniffed his chest, pawing at it sadly. Viktor closed his eyes and stroked her fur, hoping to calm her and himself down.

Gathering up what energy he could, Viktor got out of bed and dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a striped long sleeved shirt. Slipping on any pair of shoes he could find, Viktor slipped his phone into his pocket and he clipped Makkachin’s leash onto her collar before he was out the front door. He let Makkachin lead, as he always did. He felt a numbness in his heart as he stared ahead, emotionless. He robotically followed Makkachin’s motions until he realized she was leaving him down a familiar route. Passed the same grocery shop. Passed the same house with a loud chihuahua in the front yard. All the way to a large edifice of low-income apartments. 

Looking down at Makkachin, Viktor tugged on her leash. “No, Makka, Yuuri is sleeping.”

Makkachin whined loudly and pointed her nose to the air. Viktor gasped and tried to stop her. He knew what was coming next. Makkachin began to howl loudly, in the middle of several apartment buildings. Viktor scrambled forward and pet her snout affectionately. “Okay, Makka, okay, we’ll see Yuuri.” He lied.

As if by pure fate, his phone in his pocket began to vibrate. Viktor was shocked by the caller ID. It was Yuuri. He did his best to muster his usual, cheerful air and answered quickly: “Hello, Yuuri,” He chirped.

“Ugh,” Yuuri groaned, “How are you so peppy this early in the morning?” Yuuri didn’t let him answer his question. “Are you outside my home?”

“Erm, yes. I took Makkachin on a walk...and...I didn’t really...she...I let her choose the course. She led me to you,” Viktor laughed.

“Well now that you’re here,” Viktor heard the rustling of Yuuri’s comforters, “Come on. I’ll buzz you in. It’s apartment 112B.”

“What about your parents? Are they going to be okay with me being over?” Viktor asked, clutching Makkachin’s leash tighter. Normally, he would have been bouncing off the walls at the opportunity to go into Yuuri’s house. Right now, he wasn’t so sure if he could. 

“My parents already left for work. Mari just left for class so I'm home alone. But my parents are more than happy to have you here.” Yuuri explained.

“Right...okay.” Viktor agreed. The gate door in front of him buzzed and Viktor leads Makkachin in. He walked around the open-aired complex, looking for the apartment number Yuuri gave him. He was a little lost until Yuuri, sans glasses, emerged from one of the upstairs apartments and waved Viktor over. Makkachin barked happily and bounded over, taking the stairs two at a time. Viktor followed a little less enthusiastically.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he walked all the way to the end of the corridor. Yuuri’s house was the corner one. Said gorgeous man was crouching down, petting Makkachin in an oversized Power Rangers shirt and a pair of black shorts. “What on earth are you doing up at five-thirty in the morning?” Yuuri scolded.

“Makkachin wanted a walk. Who am I to say no?” Viktor asked and shrugged. Yuuri rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the cheerful pup, who wagged her tail and panted happily. 

“Right. Whatever. Come in,” Yuuri hopped away to let him in. Viktor mumbled a ‘thank you’ and trudged into the apartment.

It was homey. That was the first thing Viktor could think of. The apartment radiated a warmth Viktor hadn’t felt in over six years. Even if it was much smaller than Viktor’s house, it was a home. Different pictures lined the walls of everything Viktor could think of; young Yuuri in a kimono, young Yuuri with his sister sitting at the beach. Yuuri holding up several certificates in their school auditorium. School yearbook photos of both Yuuri and his sister. His parents holding hands and plopped comfortably in front of a building. Yuuri with a small dog that looked very similar to Makkachin. Mari in a work uniform, looking obviously displeased. 

Viktor smiled as he looked at all the pictures. He kept wandering around. A bonsai tree sat on a small table next to the couch. A case full of books in a mixture of Japanese and English, and even some Viktor recognized as manga, and a good handful of textbooks sat in between the divide of the kitchen and the living room. A large window had the curtain drawn along the furthest wall. On the wall next to it, there was a TV up against the wall. 

He looked around until he met Yuuri’s eyes. He was looking at Viktor with a mixture of worry and amusement. Makkachin had settled herself on the couch. “Having fun?” Yuuri asked. 

“Your house has a lot of pictures,” Viktor pointed out. “I like it.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said. “My mom was always a fan of photography and scrapbooking.” Yuuri motioned Viktor over to another hallway. “My room is this way.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor sung, “Buy me dinner first.”

Yuuri turned, his face bright red, “On second thought, sleep outside! Makkachin can stay.”

“Yuuri, I’m teasing!” Viktor complained as he followed Yuuri to his room. Yuuri raced into it and tried slamming the door shut, but Viktor only jammed his leg between the door and pushed against him. “Yuuuuuriiiiii! I said I’m sorry! What if I gave you a kiss, would that make it better?”

Yuuri made a noise from the other side of the door and suddenly stopped pushing. Viktor swung it open, to see Yuuri with his hands buried in his face and the tip of his ears a bright red. “How can you just casually say something like that?” 

“Well,” Viktor purred. “It’s true. I can give you a kiss if it’ll make you feel better. Where shall I place it?”

“What would make me feel better,” Yuuri began as he slowly closed the door behind himself and turned to look at Viktor with a serious expression, “is if you would tell me what was bugging you.”

Viktor’s heart caught in his throat. Yuuri’s gaze was sympathetic. It was unlike he had ever seen before. His soft, brown eyes were staring at him in concern. And suddenly, he was twelve again and dressed in all black. He was holding his Aunt Evgenia’s cold hand, watching as mahogany was lowered into the ground. His father stood across from him. Silent tears made their way down his face as he stared expressionlessly into the ground. His golden wedding band looked striking on the pale skin of his shaking hand. He could feel everyone staring at him. He could see everyone whispering. He hated it. 

“Viktor,” Yuuri’s voice broke him out of his memories. Yuuri reached up and cupped his cheeks. The warmth of his hands surprised Viktor. It was either Yuuri was incredibly warm or Viktor’s cheek was incredibly cold. “Are you okay?” 

“Can I sit?” Viktor asked. Yuuri nodded and motioned over to a small bed on the left side of the room. Viktor sat on the bed and pressed his back against the wall. Yuuri joined him on the bed and tentatively held his hand out for Viktor. Viktor took it gratefully.

“What’s on your mind?” Yuuri asked. “Before you say nothing, I know you’re lying if you do. Even if you’re smiling and laughing, you’re not smiling and laughing like you usually do. It’s off. So what’s up?”

Viktor stared at Yuuri. He studied Yuuri closely. His button nose. His jet black hair that was messy from tossing and turning. His brown eyes with crusts at the corner from sleep. His round face. Everything. Everything about Yuuri was perfect. Yuuri was perfect. Yuuri could read him like an open book. Because Yuuri realized there was something off about Viktor when perhaps no one else could. Because even if his cousins knew that the closer it got to September 22nd, the harder it got for Viktor to smile, they never bothered to actually do much. In fact, they didn’t because he was good at hiding it. But Yuuri didn’t overlook it. Viktor was translucent to Yuuri. 

“I had a dream about my mother,” Viktor told Yuuri.

Instantly, Yuuri’s expression was full of sympathy for Viktor. He squeezed his hand tighter. “Do you...do you mind elaborating?”

Viktor took a deep breath. “I was a child. I...I think. It was definitely when I was younger. It was like I was watching a movie. It was morning. And my mom was in the kitchen and so was my dad. And it was so weird. It was weird seeing my dad so happy. And having the house feel like a home. And it was so weird seeing my dad actually take his time to eat breakfast,” Viktor’s voice started breaking.

“Viktor,” Yuuri began before Viktor cut him off. 

“And it hurts. And it’s scary Yuuri. Because 5 years have gone so fast. Five years without my mother.” He turned and looked at Yuuri, a heartbroken expression on his face. “Do you understand how hard it is? How hard it is to walk into that house. Everything is still there. Her clothes. Her jewelry. Her sheet music. Even her shampoo. The bottle empty.” Viktor leaned on Yuuri for support and Yuuri instantly wrapped his arms around Viktor. “Do you know how hard it is? Do you know how hard it is to walk into that house? It’s empty. Even if it’s full of all the latest things, it’s empty because your father is killing himself at work and your mother is dead.”

Viktor began to sob. He hated himself for crying. It placed too much stress on the people around him. It was his pain. His pain to bear alone because it wasn’t anyone else’s fault that Viktor was hurting. He was hurting because he couldn’t move on. Because he was stuck in the past. Because he couldn’t properly handle his own grief. And now here he was, forcing his sadness upon Yuuri. The one person he wanted to keep around in his life. Yuuri only held him close and let him cry to his heart's content.

“I’m lonely,” Viktor cried. “Do you know my pain?”

“I don’t,” Yuuri began softly. “I’m sorry.” Yuuri awkwardly shifted underneath Viktor. It was a while before Viktor realize he was trying to get them both to lay down. Viktor complied, leaning his head on Yuuri’s chest. His heart was beating loud. When he wrapped his arm around Viktor’s waist, the sense of warmth flooded Viktor’s chest again. 

“I don’t know what it feels like. But I do know that you’re lost. And I do know what that feels like. To be lost.” Yuuri cupped the back of Viktor’s head. “And I know that you’re alone. But you don’t have to be alone.”

Viktor looked up at Yuuri. “What do you mean?”

“You have people who care about you. I care about you. I don’t want you to be hurting like this.” Yuuri explained. “You don’t have to be lonely. You can be with me. I’m sure my parents won’t mind having you over for dinner whenever. And my house isn’t the biggest, and I do share a room with my sister," He jerked his chin to the second bed on the other side of the room, "but it’s always open to you. And you can hang out with my friends and I if you’re feeling lonely. I’ll warn you, though. We’re losers who get drunk off of Mike's Hard Lemonade. And if you want, just you and I can hang out. We can go get ice cream at Rite Aid or take a train to the beach or we can go to the mall and try on ridiculous clothes or we can even just sit here in silence and I would be okay with that, I-I don’t know if you would be okay with that but I would and-” 

“Yuuri,” Viktor cut off his rambling. The tears didn’t stop. “Thank you. You don’t understand what that means to me.” Viktor said. It was true. Yuuri was a breath of fresh air to him. Someone who didn’t look at him with sad eyes for too long. Who felt his pain but didn’t let him drown in it. Yuuri was someone who stuck his hand out to save Viktor from drowning. 

Yuuri nodded. “Now go to sleep. It’s six in the morning. I’m hardly awake at these hours if I’m not doing homework.”

Viktor nuzzled into Yuuri’s chest. “Thank you.” A question popped into his head when he closed his eyes. “Hey, Yuuri?”

“Hm?” Yuuri asked sleepily.

“How did you know I was outside?” Viktor questioned.

“Oh. I heard Makkachin,” Yuuri explained. Viktor snorted and pulled the comforters up to cover both him and Yuuri. 

Yuuri slipped Viktor’s bangs back and placed a quick, chaste kiss on his forehead. A blush bloomed on Viktor’s cheeks as his heart leaped into his throat. “Go to bed. Goodnight, Viktor,” Yuuri mumbled. Viktor buried his face in Yuuri’s chest. His heart was beating wildly. 

“Goodnight, my Yuuri,” he whispered.

__________

“ _Can you come down to the studio after school today?_ ” Dmitry asked Viktor.

Viktor bit his lip and looked up Yuuri. The two were eating lunch together in Mr. Feltsman’s classroom. After waking up to Yuuri’s blaring alarm, Viktor and Yuuri scrambled up. While Yuuri was busy dressing for the day, Viktor brought it upon himself to make them both a cup of coffee. Makkachin bounded up to him and sniffed his feet. She begged for coffee, which Viktor staunchly refused. Dogs and coffee simply did not mix.

When Yuuri emerged from his room dressed in a band t-shirt, a flannel, and some black skinny jeans, Viktor handed him a cup of coffee. When Yuuri began to fret about Makkachin being left alone, Viktor reassured him that he had a place where she could stay (namely his Uncle Yakov’s classroom. But Yuuri didn’t have to know that.) The two walked to school together, and Yuuri almost turned the color of the Rolling Stones logo on his t-shirt when Viktor held his hand. 

After dropping Makkachin off in the band room (much to his Uncle’s heart attack) Viktor walked Yuuri to class. And then met up after that class to walk him again. And again. And asked Yuuri if they wanted to have lunch with him and Makkachin in the bandroom. They plopped their lunches on a pair of stands and played with Makkachin. Students who streamed in and out of practice rooms during their lunchtime took time to fawn of Makkachin. She enjoyed all the attention given to her. Everything was going well until Viktor got an unusual call from his father. He was never one to call Viktor while he was in school, much less at all.

“I...I think I can. I was planning to walk Yuuri home and I left my car at home so-” Viktor began.

“It’s fine, Viktor. I can walk myself. Go see your dad,” Yuuri reassured him. He reached out and touched his arm. Viktor placed his hand over it.

“Alright, dad. I’ll see you later,” Viktor said. He hung up his phone and called for Makkachin. She bounded over to Viktor and plopped down at his feet. Viktor moved to the floor to hug her for support.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asked, eyeing Viktor carefully.

Viktor nodded. He looked up in time to watch his Uncle Yakov emerge from his office. The oldest of all of his _Dedushka_ Peytor’s children, Yakov had deep creases in his forehead and tired bags under his eyes. He was always on his niece and nephew’s asses about keeping up with their studies, musical and academic, but perhaps he was on Viktor’s ass the most. He was Viktor’s godfather as well, after all. And he was perhaps the closest thing Viktor had to a father figure after his mom died. 

“Was what your father?” Yakov asked.

Viktor nodded. “He wants me to go down to his studio today.”

“How has he been lately? Today is the anniversary of your mother’s death, after all.” Yakov noted. His sunken blue eyes watched Viktor’s expression carefully. The weight of Yuuri’s eyes was perhaps heavier. Yuuri offered his hand to Viktor and he took it. 

“He’s been fine. Not home as much, so I couldn’t say much else,” Viktor said tightly.

“How have you been?” Yuuri asked, squeezing Viktor’s hand. Yakov glanced at Yuuri with a surprised expression, as if barely acknowledging his presence.

”Not fine,” Viktor said, squeezing Makkachin. 

Guilt flooded Yakov’s usually steely eyes. He shifted his weight from leg to leg and crossed his arm. “I can give you a ride to your dad’s studio so you won’t have to walk all the way home and waste time.”

“Oh,” Viktor said and turned to Makkachin, “I don’t think my dad would appreciate me bringing Makkachin to the studio. You know how rambunctious she can be.”

“I can take her over to my house,” Yuuri offered. “Then you can pick her up.”

Yakov jerked his chin towards Yuuri. “Problem solved. Be here no later than 3.”

Viktor stared at his Uncle Yakov, a little shocked but grateful. “Thank you.”

“Right,” Yakov nodded. He looked to Yuuri and gave him a funny look. As if trying to decide how he felt about him. “Lunch ends in 10 minutes. Hurry and finish eating.” He spoke to Viktor but kept his eyes on Yuuri. Viktor nodded and Yakov lingered his eyes on Yuuri a bit longer before turning into his office and shutting the door.

“Is he usually that quiet?” Yuuri asked. 

Viktor shook his head and stood from the floor, brushing himself off and sitting on his chair again. Makkachin sat on Viktor’s shoes and placed her head in his lap. Viktor stroked her snout affectionately. “He’s usually yelling at us from the press box. Me more so while I’m on the drum major podium.”

A small, amused smile crossed Yuuri’s lips. “Dr. Baranovskaya always yells at us too. Maybe that’s why they divorced.”

“Shhhh,” Viktor pressed a finger to his lips, “They have ears like hawks. If they hear you, they’ll gut you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s some sort of violation of school punishment policies,” Yuuri snorted. Viktor laughed.

__________

His uncle Yakov dropped him off in the studio’s lot and Viktor waved goodbye as he pulled away in his blue SUV. Viktor, Mila, Georgi, and Yuri all teased him relentlessly that it was a soccer mom car. Yakov always threatened to not give them rides home after practice. It was all a front anyway. Yakov loved his niece and nephews dearly, even if they gave him stress headaches on a daily basis. Besides, Mila and Viktor both owned their own cars. It wasn’t like they always needed ride from their uncle.

The Russian teen waited until his Uncle’s car disappeared from sight around the iron gate. He turned and pushed through the glass doors of the building into the lobby of the studio. In bold, black font, “ **SUNSET RECORDS** ” covered the length of the first, cream-colored wall. On the other walls, plaques declaring his father’s excellent were lined neatly. Sitting in front of it was the curved receptionist desk, with his father’s secretary, Dawn, typing away and answering calls. The minute she spotted Viktor, she stopped talking, “Alex I’m going to have you hold for one minute,” Dawn told to whomever she was talking to on the phone and placed the receiver down. 

“Viktor!” She sang. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long! My, look how big you’ve grown!” She fussed over him. “Your father told me you were going to come over when he finished his project, but I didn’t think he’d finish it so soon! He told me you’re a senior in high school already? And it’s almost your 18th birthday, too!”

Viktor stared at Dawn like she had grown a second head. “My father talks about me?”

“Every chance he gets!” She winked. “You know he’s really excited about the fact that you’re applying to Juilliard.” 

“He’s an alum. Of course he is,” Viktor said. 

“Well go sit, honey,” She shoo-ed him towards the leather couch. “He’s upstairs in studio LM. But I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Viktor thanked her and studied the lobby of the studio. He didn’t come here often, but much didn’t change. To the left, three couches made a half circle around a TV mounted on the wall. A wooden coffee table sat in the center of the couches. Littered upon the coffee table were several music magazines: _Rolling Stones, Billboard, Kerrang!, Alternative Press, Musical Opinion, Entertainment Weekly, Guitar World_ the list went on. Music from a popular rock band his father worked with recently played from the speakers above. 

Viktor passed by two windowless doors. The first one was his mother’s old piano room. He spent most of his time as a child in there when he was not at school. Whether it was tapping away happily at the piano or sleeping underneath it as his mother played a melody, most of his fondest memories of the studio were made within the four walls. At the furthest corner of the first floor was his father’s office. When his father wasn’t slaving away in front of the mixing console in the studio, he was in his office taking care of business. Bills for the studio, contracts with new artists, interviews via Skype. That office might as well have been his second home. The first was in front of the consoles.

He wandered to the right side of the lobby. In the corner, a spiral staircase led up to the recording studios, and an elevator right next to it for his father’s disabled patrons. A wide window took up the wall next to the elevator and gave a view of the city outside. Viktor peered out the window out to the horizon. Clouds had rolled in overnight and threatened rain. It was unusual for rain this early in California, but it fit the day. Lingering his case, he walked over to his father’s class trophy case. 

His father had been in the music industry for a little longer than Viktor had been alive. He and his mother both worked together to build their studio and a name for themselves. They started off mixing whatever they wrote, releasing it and eventually releasing a CD through a well-known label. Then, small upstart bands came to his father to have their songs mixed by him. His mother would write songs and together, they would compose scores for Hollywood blockbusters. After a particularly successful score in a movie, many top name artists came to his parents, asking them for help engineering, mixing and producing albums. Then, the awards began rolling in. Grammys, Oscars, Tonys, People’s Choice, Golden Globes. The list was endless. 

He peered into the glass and began to read the inscriptions on the awards. Best composition, best score, best mixing. The names varied between his father’s, his mother’s, or both of their names. As he continued to study the gilded, golden statues, he that the middle shelf had some less official looking awards. He recognized some as his parent’s music awards from high school and college. He even recognized some of his awards throughout his career as a music student. He furrowed his brows as he leaned in. Taped to the back of the trophy case and displayed proudly above the rest of the trophies was a messily colored piece of paper.

Best mommy award  
_Lyudmila Nikiforov_

Next to that award was his father’s matching award. He made them for his parents in the third grade. He didn’t think his father would keep them, much less display them amongst other honorable awards.

He watched his father descend the staircase in the reflection of the mirror. He stood and turned to face him. His Aunt Ana always told Viktor that he was a perfect blend of his parents. He had his father’s looks but his mother’s personality. Looking at his father now, he figured that must be true. His father was a couple of inches taller than Viktor and had the same high cheekbones and strong jaw. He had his aquiline nose and dimpled eyes. Most notably, Viktor had his father’s silver hair. The only physical characteristics Viktor could most prominently note his mother’s genetics in was his wide forehead, his heart-shaped smile, and his mother’s electric blue eyes.

“Vitya,” His father greeted, “Come upstairs. I have something to show you in the studio.”

Viktor turned to look at the awards case. He looked back at his father and nodded. “Okay.” 

The duo walked up the spiral staircase and stepped into a long hallway. Each room was labeled according to its contents. Mic rooms, drum rooms, guitar rooms, solo booths, reverb rooms and console rooms. Some had smaller booths and other had medium-sized booths. However, Viktor knew that the room at the very end of the hall was the biggest and where all of his father’s most successful albums were produced. He also knew that it was where his father spent most of his time. The black door displayed a golden plaque with ‘ _Studio LM_ ’ proudly engraved on it.

His father unlocked the door and let Viktor in. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. The room hadn’t changed much ever since Viktor was last in it. The same leather couch was facing the large mixing console. Two reclining chairs flanked either side of the couch with throws and pillows tossed over them haphazardly. A roundtable with empty cups of Starbucks coffee sat on a rug in front of the couch. On the wall above the couch were two mounted lights. The console itself was flashing with a million different colors that Viktor could vaguely comprehend. It looks like Christmas had vomited all over it.

His father dragged a chair next to his swivel chair in front of the console and motioned for Viktor to sit. Viktor did as he was told and fiddled with the sleeve of his long sleeve. He was curious as to what his father wanted to show him but also slightly nervous. His father never acted like this. He was almost trying to open up to Viktor. Then again, it was the anniversary of his mother’s death today.

“I was cleaning out a couple of things from your mother’s piano room months ago when I stumbled across a song,” He took a file folder that was sitting atop the console and handed it to Viktor. “It was your mother’s. One she never showed me. But it was one she wrote a month prior to her…” His father stopped and swallowed thickly. Viktor looked up at him, already tearing up. He reached out and patted his father’s shoulder. “Anyway, I took my time arranging the melodies and chords for it. And the instrumentation for it as well. But I just couldn’t find anyone to record it because I felt no one could really do justice to your mother’s song.” 

Viktor watched his father as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. “But then I remembered an R&B artist your mother had taken a liking to so many years ago when they worked together on her debut album. And so I gave her a call and asked her to come in and see if she would want to record the song. After a couple of months, we have the final results ready to release on her new album.” He turned to the console and stared at the endless buttons. 

“And we wanted you to be the first person to listen to it,” said Dmitry. “Since you were the person she dedicated it to.”

Viktor nodded and took a deep breath. He could feel the way his hand shook and balled it into a fist. He thought back to his dream this morning. The way his mother felt so real. How the memory was too fresh. His father turned to look at him before pressing a button. It took a couple of seconds before a piano chord rang out in the room. A woman’s voice began to sing and Viktor recognized it immediately. He remembered how much she was around him and his parents. His mother was particularly fond of her, as if she were her older sister, even if his mother was only a couple of years older. 

Her voice was soft and melodic, with just the right edge to it. Her soulful tone sent chills up and down Viktor’s spine. He closed his eyes and imagined back when his mother would lay in bed with him and hum lullabies to him until he fell asleep. He remembered the passion in her words and the fire in her eyes. He remembered her looking frail and tired on her bed in her last week. Dmitry never left her side that week. Viktor curled up next to her and clung to her thin arm. 

_And I'll rise up_  
_I'll rise like the day_  
_I'll rise up_  
_I'll rise unafraid_  
_I'll rise up_  
_And I'll do it a thousand times again_  
_And I'll rise up_  
_High like the waves_  
_I'll rise up_  
_In spite of the ache_  
_I'll rise up_  
_And I'll do it a thousand times again  
_ _For you_

Viktor ran a hand through his hair as he listened to the lyrics. It was his mother’s final message to him. His mother was telling him that she would rise up for him. She would stand taller for him and keep him safe. Choking back a sob, Viktor tugged on the roots of his hair and let out a shaky breath. His mother was pushing him. Pushing him to be stronger because she gave all she had and now it was his turn. He needed to make his mother proud as she watched over him. 

_All we need, all we need is hope_  
_And for that we have each other_  
_And for that we have each other  
_ _We will rise_

There were so many people who cheered Viktor on. His Aunt Evgenia, Aunt Anastasia, Aunt Ana and his Uncle Yakov. His father. His _dedushka_ Peytor and his _babushka_ Natalya. His cousins Mila, Georgi, and Yuri, along with their siblings. Chris, JJ, and Isabella. His newfound underclassmen friends and most importantly, he had Yuuri. Through his snide remarks, teasing comments and flirtatious banter, Yuuri had broken into his monotone world and exploded color everywhere. But he also saw Viktor as a human. He held him when he needed to be held but also helped him stand up. He didn’t coddle him and watch what he said in fear of upsetting Viktor even more than Viktor usually was. He was a bright sun that had broken through a thick blanket of clouds and shone down on Viktor, filling him with warmth. Yuuri gave his life purpose again. Yuuri had taught him a new flavor to his mother’s two lessons of life and love. Yuuri was his hope.

The piano and vocalizations ended and left a ringing in the room. Viktor cried for a while well after the song ended. The tears fell as he stared at the ground. He felt a significant weight lift off his shoulders. He looked up at his father and wordlessly stood to hug him. His father surprised him by hugging him back.

__________

“Oh, dad. Can we stop by my friend Yuuri’s house? He took Makkachin home from school.” Viktor explained. A bag of fast food sat on his lap and the sun began to dip beyond the horizon. After leaving the studio, Viktor and Dmitry visited his mother’s grave with a fresh bouquet of flowers. They spent some time with her and Dmitry told her all about the song he had written with Cassandra. The two then went home when the cemetery had closed for the day, stopping for some fast food.

“Makkachin? Why was she at your school?” Dmitry asked.

“It was a senior prank,” Viktor lied. If his father knew that he had gone over to Yuuri’s house so early in the morning and slept in the same bed with him, he was afraid of backlash.

“Alright. I guess. But his address in the GPS,” Dmitry motioned to his phone in the cupholder. Viktor picked it up and stared at the background longer than he should have. It was a picture of an old polaroid. His mother was sitting on his father’s lap on the floor of a college dorm room. Lyudmila’s arm was slung over his shoulders and a bright, heart-shaped smile decorated her face. Dmitry stared up at her with adoring eyes. He made a mental note to send himself that picture later as he typed Yuuri’s address into the GPS. 

A robotic voice began directing his father. Viktor sat back and pressed his head against the headrest. He looked out the window as the cityscape rolled past them. The radio played the song he had earlier in his father’s studio lobby. He listened to the lyrics closely. He had listened to the song several times before. Especially since Yuuri idolized them.

“You worked with this band, didn’t you?” Viktor asked his father. 

“Yes, for a while now. I produced most of their albums in Studio LM,” Dmitry said. 

“Does the lead singer ever remind you of you and me?” Viktor asked.

Dmitry looked over at Viktor in the passenger seat. He was still facing away. “Care to explain?”

“ _I’m like a son who was raised without a father,_ ” Viktor sang along, “ _I’m like a mother barely keeping it together._ ” 

“Are you calling me a mother?” Dmitry asked. 

“You know what I mean,” Viktor responded. He turned to look at his father. He stared ahead and gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

“No one could ever compare to you in my eyes, Viktor.” said his father.

Viktor smiled and looked down at the food in his lap. Maybe his father had changed. Maybe things were finally beginning to change for the better.

The rest of the car ride to Yuuri’s house was spent in relatively comfortable silence. Only the radio provided background noise for them. Viktor picked his phone out of his pocket and shot a text to Yuuri that he would arrive in five minutes. Yuuri replied with an ‘ok’ and a smiley face emoji. Viktor looked at his contact imagine. It was a selfie that Phichit had taken with the two of them. Viktor had his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders. He was staring at Yuuri fondly while Yuuri, with his eyes scrunched and mid-laugh, rested his hand gently on Viktor’s arm. 

“You seem awfully close to this Yuuri, don’t you?” Dmitry broke Viktor’s daydream.

“Oh,” He said, “I guess. He’s certainly something. Hey, isn’t the band whose song played before just get off of tour?” Viktor asked, quick to change the subject.

“Yes,” Dmitry said carefully. “They want to rent out an amusement park to invite family and friends to spend a night celebrating the album’s success,” Dmitry said. “They’re giving us tickets. Just tell me how many friends you want to invite so I can give them a number.”

“Okay,” Viktor said. Normally, for these kinds of things, he used to invite his cousins. But then his cousins got their own life (except for Yuri, who never wanted to go to them anyway because he was too ‘cool’ for them) and left him behind. After the 8th grade, Viktor began inviting Chris and JJ to the events, and eventually, it just wound down to him and Chris after JJ began to date Isabella. But the first person he thought of to invite was Yuuri. However, out of fear, he would probably invite Chris. Just to play it safe.

His father rounded a corner and pulled onto Yuuri’s street. Viktor watched out the window excitedly until a cream-colored apartment building came to view. “It’s that one,” He pointed. “Wait in the car, I’ll be real quick,” He practically bolted out the passenger seat when the car came to a stop. He sent Yuuri a quick, ‘ _I’m here_ ’ text. 

The front gate buzzed and Viktor pushed through it, racing up to Yuuri’s apartment door. He ran out of Dmitry’s sight.

He spotted his son on the top floor of the left side of the complex. A black-haired figure emerged from the door, half a head shorter than Viktor, and Dmitry could hear the sound of Makkachin barking. Viktor leaned into the figure and he responded by leaning towards him as well. Viktor hugged the figure— who at this point, Dmitry figured was Yuuri— and turned his head to either whisper in his ear or kiss his cheek. They stood together for a moment and Dmitry thought of what Lyudmila would do. What would she say?

They parted after a quick second and Yuuri waved at Viktor jogged down the stairs, Makkachin leashed and bounding at his side happily. He held the back door open for his dog who climbed in and panted happily. Makkachin did love her card rides. 

Viktor slid back into the passenger seat, careful not to step on their dinner he had set on the floor. “Okay, we can go home now.”

Dmitry nodded and pulled away. It was silent, but Dmitry couldn’t ignore the way Viktor’s smile radiated happiness. He had been so calm before. How could one person have that effect on him?

“Vitya. I’ve decided you can only invite one friend to the amusement park,” his father told him.

“What?” Viktor looked up at him.

“One,” Dmitry confirmed. “And it has to be your friend Yuuri.” Viktor’s eyes widened as he let out a shaky breath.

“Yes, father.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my writing [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/AllegroWrites)for more updates, rambles, and previews.
> 
> Kudos make my day. Comments make them better.


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